Wee Macgreegor/Chapter 1

!" said the small boy, for the twenty-third time since the Robinson family began their perambulations in Argyll street—"maw!"

"Whit is't ye're wantin' noo, Macgreegor?" asked his mother, not without irritation in her voice.

"Maw, here a sweetie shope."

"Weel, whit aboot it? Ye'll get yer gundy the morn, ma mannie."

"Deed, then ye'll jist ha'e to want. Ye micht think shame o' yersel', wantin' gundy; efter ye've ett twa aipples an' a pie furbye."

"But I'm hungry yet."

This seemed to amuse his mother, for she laughed and called to a big man in front of her, who was carrying a little girl, "John, Macgreegor's sayin' he's hungry."

"Are ye hungry, Macgreegor?" said John, halting and turning to his son, with a twinkle in his eye. "Ye'll be wantin' a scone, maybe."

Macgregor looked offended, and his mother remarked, "No' him! It's thae sweetie shopes that's makin' him hungry. But I've tell't him he's to get nae gundy till the morn's mornin'."

"D'ye hear whit she's sayin', Macgreegor?" said his father. Then, "Come on, Lizzie, an' we'll get him a bit sweetie to taste his gab."

"Ye jist spile the wean, John," said Lizzie, moving, however, with a good-natured smile to the shop-window. "But mind, it's to be baurley-sugar. I'll no ha'e him filin' his stomach wi' fancy things. See an' get baurley-sugar, John, an' wee Jeannie 'll get a bit o' 't. Wull ye no', ma daurlin'?" she demanded sweetly of the child in her husband's arms. Wee Jeannie expressed delight in sounds unintelligible to any one but her mother.

"I want taiblet," said Macgregor to his father, in a whisper rendered hoarse with emotion at the sight of the good things in the window.

His mother was not intended to hear him, but she did. "Taiblet!" she exclaimed. "Weans that gets taiblet gets ile efter."

The boy's nether lip protruded and trembled ominously.

"Och, Lizzie," said John, "ye're aye thinkin' aboot the future. A wee bit taiblet 'll dae the laddie nae hairm. Deed, no! An' fine I ken ye like a bit taiblet yersel'."

"Ay, that's a' richt, John. But ye've shairly no' forgot whit the doctor said when Macgreegor wis lyin' badly efter ye had him at the Exhibeetion. He said Macgreegor had a wake disgeestion, and we wis to be awfu' carefu' whit he ett. An' I wis readin' in the Companion jist the ither nicht that there wis naethin' waur fur the disgeestion nor nits, an' thon taiblet's jist fu' o' nits."

"Aweel," said her husband, evidently overcome by her reasoning, "I'll get baurley-sugar. Haud wee Jeannie." And he entered the shop.

When he rejoined his family, he handed the "wholesome sweetmeat" to his wife, who first of all extracted a short stick for wee Jeannie, wrapping one end of it in a scrap of paper torn from the "poke." Macgregor accepted his share in gloomy silence, and presently the party resumed their walk, John again carrying his daughter, who from time to time dabbed his countenance with the wet end of her barley-sugar in a filial desire to give him a taste.

Having proceeded west about one hundred yards, they were called to a halt by Lizzie at the door of a big warehouse.

"I'm gaun in here, John," she said. "I'm wantin' a bit rid flannen fur a goonie fur wee Jeannie."

"Naethin' fur yersel', Lizzie?"

His wife looked at something in one of the windows rather wistfully. "It's ower dear," she murmured.

"It's no' that dear," said John, thoughtfully.

"Weel, it's guid stuff. But I'm gey sweirt to pey sae muckle fur whit I micht dae wi'oot. An' Macgreegor's needin' a new bunnet."

"His bunnet's fine. Jist you gang in, Lizzie, an' buy whit ye've got yer e'e on. We'll see aboot a bunnet efter. Dod! ye maun ha'e yer Ne'rday, wumman, like ither folk. Awa' wi' ye!"

"I'll tak' wee Jeannie in wi' me," said Lizzie, looking pleased. "I'm shair yer airm's sair wi' haudin' her. She's gettin' a big lassie—are ye no', ma doo?" She stepped into the doorway, but returned for a moment. "See an' keep a grup o' Macgreegor, John," she said.

"Oh, ay! Him an' me 'll jist tak' a bit daunner up an' doon till ye come oot." Having wiped from his face the sticky traces of his daughter's affection, and set his pipe going with several long breaths of satisfaction, he held out his hand to his son, with "Come on, Macgreegor."

Macgregor slipped his small fist into the big one, and they set off slowly along the crowded pavements, stopping frequently to see the sights of the street and the windows, while the youngster asked innumerable questions, mostly unanswerable.

"Ha'e ye ett yer baurley-sugar?" asked his father, during a pause in the childish queries.

"Ay; I've ett it.... It's no' as nice as taiblet, paw."

"But ye'll no' be carin' fur taiblet noo?"

"Taiblet's awfu' guid," returned Macgregor, guardedly, with a glance upward at his parent's face. "Wullie Thomson's paw gi'es him taiblet whiles."

"Aweel, Macgreegor, I'm no' gaun to gi'e ye taiblet.... But if ye wis pittin' yer haun in ma pooch ye micht Ye're no' to let on to yer maw, mind!"

The enraptured Macgregor's hand was already busy, and a moment later his jaws were likewise.

"Ye've burst the poke, ye rogue," said John, feeling in his pocket. "Noo, ye're to get nae mair till the morn. Yer maw wud gi'e 't to me if she kent ye wis eatin' awmonds."

"I'll no' tell," said Macgregor, generously.

As they approached the warehouse once more, John carefully wiped his son's mouth, and vainly endeavored to assume an expression of innocence.

However, when Lizzie joined them she was too pleased and proud for the moment to suspect anything.

"Gi'e Jeannie to me," said John.

"Na, na! I'll cairry her a wee. I got a sate in the shope. But I'll gi'e ye ma paircel. It 'll maybe gang in yer poket."

"Jist," said her husband, as hie stuffed in the long, brown-paper package. "Did ye get whit ye wantit?"

"Ay, John, an' I bate them doon a shullin'."

"Ye're a rale smairt wumman! Come, an' we'll gang an' see the waux-works."

"Paw," put in Macgregor, "I wudna like to be a waux-work when I wis deid."

"Haud yer tongue, Macgreegor," said his mother. "John, ye maun check him when he says sic awfu' things."

"Aw, the wean's fine, Lizzie.... Macgreegor, ye're no' to say that again," he added, with an attempt at solemnity.

"Whit wey is folk made intil waux-works?" inquired his son, not greatly abashed.

"Oh, jist to amuse ither folk."

"But whit wey" Macgregor's inquiry was interrupted by his colliding violently with a bag carried by a gentleman hurrying for his train.

"Ye see whit ye get fur no' lukin' whaur ye're gaun," said his mother. "Pit his bunnet stracht, John.... Puir mannie, it wis a gey sair dunt," she added, gently.

"I'm no greetin', maw," said Macgregor, in a quavering voice, rubbing his eyes with his cuff.

"That's a braw lad!" said Lizzie.

"Never heed, Macgreegor! Ye'll be a man afore yer mither!" said John.

Thus consoled, the boy trotted on with his parents till they reached the gaudy entrance of the wax-works.

"Noo, I'll tak' Jeannie," said the husband.

"Ay; that 'll be the best wey fur gaun in. An' I'll tak' the paircel, fur it 'll be in yer road." So saying, Lizzie handed her charge to John. Then she pulled the parcel from his pocket; and lo and behold! it came out accompanied by sundry fragments of taiblet, which fell on the pavement.

John would have dropped anything else but his present burden. Macgregor gazed at the dainties at his feet, but did not dare attempt to secure them. Lizzie looked pitilessly from one to the other. It was a tableau worthy of wax.

But who can follow the workings of the childish mind? Two tears crept into Macgregor's eyes as he raised them fearfully to his mother's face.

"Paw never ett ony," he mumbled.

The expression on Lizzie's face changed to astonishment.

"Whit's that ye say?"

"P-p-paw never ett ony," the boy repeated.

And then, of a sudden, Lizzie's astonishment became amusement.

"Deed, ye' re jist a pair o' weans!" And she laughed against her will.

"It wis' a' ma fau't, Lizzie," said John.

"Ay; ye sud ha'e pit the taiblet in yer ither pocket! Eh?.... Na, na, Macgreegor, ye'll jist let the taiblet lie," she exclaimed as the boy stooped to seize it.

"There nae glaur on it, maw."

"Ay, but there is. Come awa'!"

And away Macgregor was pulled to see the wax-works.

But why did paw wink at his son and point stealthily to his "pooch"?